A Traitor's Tale
by devilishblacksheep
Summary: After his failed attempt on Dumbledore’s life, Draco went into hiding, afraid to face Voldemort’s wrath. When he is forced to accept responsibility for his actions, will he rise as a hero or return to the life he's always known?
1. Exit Light

**I really need to work on one fanfic to completion instead of jumping around. Unfortunately, the muses for my various incomplete stories are strangely silent, so I am forced to start something new until they speak up. Here's the latest one.**

**After watching _The Covenant_ and drooling over Reid, it came to my attention that Reid looks an awful lot like Draco. So, if I liked Reid, it would follow that I would therefore like Draco. Well, I thought about it, and determined that yes, Draco has actually grown on me (I really hate to say this; I have been a firm Draco-hater from the first book. And now I am a Draco sympathizer; my God, I'm pathetic…lol). So, upon discovering my newfound appreciation of Tom Felton and Draco, I figured I had better write a fanfic. So here it is. Like so many others, it portrays Draco as more of a product of his upbringing rather than downright evil.**

**After his failed attempt on Dumbledore's life, Draco went into hiding, afraid to face Voldemort's ire. When he is forced to accept responsibility for his actions, will he rise as a hero or return to the life he knows?**

**Yet again, I own nothing except the plot. And various characters that never appeared in the books but are in here. Everything else belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

**_A Traitor's Tale_**

Draco ran. He ran as fast as he could for as long as he could, trying to put as much distance between himself and Hogwarts as possible. Finally, he dropped to the ground, completely exhausted. What had he done? He had failed to carry out his assignment, the one entrusted to him by the Dark Lord, and now, instead of returning to him to beg for mercy, as he knew he should, he was running like a coward. Malfoys were not cowards; it just wasn't bred into them. And yet, here he was, running from Hogwarts like he had a pack of werewolves on his tail. It was pathetic. But he couldn't bring himself to return to the castle and join the others, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

It was all _his_ fault. Dumbledore. The fool. Staring at him, as if he could see clear into his soul. Telling him it was unnecessary, that it wasn't who Draco really was. Who did he think he was kidding? He was a _Malfoy_, for Merlin's sake; killing was in his blood. But, if that was true, why hadn't he been able to do it? It wasn't like he liked Dumbledore or anything; he had nothing but disgust for the man. Yet, when it came down to it, he just couldn't do it. He scowled. This was unacceptable.

But, now that he thought about it, Dumbledore was the only one who hadn't assumed that he would follow in his father's footsteps. Everyone else looked at Draco and saw only his father and the connection to the Dark Lord. But Dumbledore saw who he was and who he could be, believing that he wasn't limited to the only path Draco himself saw. Maybe that was why he couldn't do it; even though he was a complete fool, and naïve on top of that, he couldn't bear to kill the one person in his life who truly believed he could be better. Not that he wanted to be better; he was perfectly happy with who he was.

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It was six months later. Draco had hidden himself among muggles, distasteful as the idea was to him. But it was the only way he could be sure, absolutely sure, that the Dark Lord and his minions wouldn't find him. Why would they look among muggles, when no self-respecting Death Eater would so much as talk to one? So he lived in a small town, out of the way, in a small cottage barely big enough for one. He still wasn't sure why he ran, but he had decided to stop thinking about it, since it led his thoughts in directions he wasn't willing to go quite yet.

His brand, the thing that would forever mark him as one of the Dark Lord's own, had begun to burn the day after he found the cottage. It was a lancing pain, that became a dull ache for a few hours until it again burned fiercely, causing him to bite his lip until it bled to stifle a scream. He knew his Master was calling him, wanting to know where he was and why he had not reported, but Draco couldn't answer, partly in defiance, partly in fear of his punishment for not carrying out his assignment, and partly for some reason he couldn't express. This went on for the whole six months, until finally he became accustomed to the pain, ignoring it for the most part.

That night, they found him. He had been expecting it; he knew it was too good to last. With Bellatrix in the lead, a group of Death Eaters broke into his house, breaking down the door with a blast from a wand. Draco's house was the only one for miles; there was no one to come to his rescue. Not that they would; bright lights and explosions tended to keep most people away.

"Where's my traitorous likkle nephew?" Bellatrix said, her voice sickly sweet. Draco didn't even bother with hiding; he knew it was no use. He stepped out from behind the door, greeting his aunt with a trademark smirk. "Why, hello, aunt. What a pleasure to see you."

"Put that wand down!" she yelled shrilly, seeing his hand reach for the wand hidden in his jacket. He let go of it, sighing loudly. "Go get it," she commanded one of the hooded men. He approached Draco, grinning evilly. "We've got plans for you, we do. Little sneak!" He reached into Draco's jacket, shoving Draco once he had the wand in his hand. Draco inelegantly fell to the floor after vainly trying to keep his balance. The men laughed cruelly. The man who had taken Draco's wand now snapped it in half, jumping a foot in the air when it emitted brightly colored sparks. Draco snickered. "What the hell are you laughing at, you bloody twit!" The man backhanded him, hard enough to knock him back against the wall. "Kingston!" Bellatrix shrieked. "If you damage the goods now, the Dark Lord won't let us have any fun with him later," she said in a sing-song voice. Fun. Draco had a pretty good idea what their kind of fun entailed; he had witnessed it often enough. Not that he wasn't entirely deserving of whatever they did to him; he had been taught by first his father and then the Dark Lord himself that the Dark Lord did not take cowards lightly, and Draco had failed in his assignment and then ran, which immediately put him in the Dark Lord's disfavor. But he wouldn't become a sniveling weasel when faced with punishment, like Pettigrew and so many others. He was a Malofy; Malfoys didn't snivel.

He stood up when Bellatrix motioned for him to do so, and followed them outside. There was a portkey waiting, which each Death Eater grabbed in turn. Draco felt the usual being-pulled-inside-out-through-your-bellybutton sensation as Kingston touched the beer stein, then opened his eyes to see that they were in a huge room. There were hundreds of Death Eaters, all glaring at him in pure hatred. "And so the traitor returns," hissed the Dark Lord, his red eyes shining maliciously. "What do you have to say for yourself before I turn you over to my loyal followers?"

"I sincerely apologize, my Lord," Draco said, looking him in the eyes. He was going to take responsibility for what he had done, and refused to back down. He would stand tall, and hope that the Dark Lord would forgive him for his lapse in judgment. "There is no excuse for my behavior. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, so long as it will return me to your favor."

Voldemort paused, and chuckled to himself in amusement. "My, my. The boy attempts to charm me. How…entertaining. I wouldn't expect any less from a Malfoy. Your father always tried the same thing when he had done something he knew I would find…distasteful." There was a stifled cough from one of the hooded men. "Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, keeping his eyes on the blonde boy in front of him. "Do you wish to speak? To stand up for your precious son, who has likely betrayed us all? If so, you may join in his fate. If not, I suggest you hold your tongue." There were no more interruptions. "Now, since you are in one piece, I will allow those who brought you to me to exact punishment. I am sure they will do an adequate job of it." He waved his hands, gesturing for Draco to be removed. Kingston stepped forward and picked him up by the collar of his shirt and followed the others.

Draco was brought to a smaller room, one with a pair of shackles suspended from the ceiling. He was led over and the shackles were placed around his wrists. The chains were then tightened so that Draco was forced to stand. "Now then," Bellatrix began, "what have you told your little friends?"

"Nothing. And they aren't my friends; my allegiance lies with the Dark Lord. I am not a betrayer."

"Well, that is what you would say, isn't it? What self-respecting traitor would openly admit to it? But we will make you admit to it, you can be sure of that."

_But I'm not_, Draco thought to himself. _I haven't betrayed anyone. __Why would I want to be on their side?_ _Not that she'll ever believe me; she's stark-raving mad._

"I will ask you again, and then I am going to get nasty. What have you told them?"

"_Nothing_," Draco said vehemently.

"Fine. Lie all you want; we'll get you to confess sooner or later. And in the meantime, we get to have our fun." With that, she yelled "_Crucio!_" And all thoughts Draco had were forgotten.

He twisted and writhed, trying to escape the pain, but nothing he did could ease it. The fact that his hands were chained above him only made it worse; every time he moved, the weight of his body would pull on his arms, threatening to tear them out of their sockets. He heard screaming, and realized it was coming from him. Finally the pain let up, leaving him panting and gasping for breath. "Now, let's try this again. What have you told them."

"Nothing, I told them nothing, I haven't even seen them since…" Bellatrix shook her head. "Tsk tsk. Naughty boy. _Crucio!_"

"What have I told you about lying?" She shrieked, taking a dark pleasure out of Draco's pain. "It won't help you; we'll find out eventually. Tell us now, and I'll make it stop. Keep lying, and I will continue. I would tell you this hurts me more than it does you, but that would be a lie; I'm enjoying every minute of this."

Draco kept his mouth shut, biting his lip to keep from screaming. How long could this go on? Considering it was Bellatrix casting the spell, probably until he was dead. Which was the intent of this whole exercise; Draco had displeased the Dark Lord, and now he had to pay for his mistake. That was the way it worked.

It stopped. Draco shook his head, glaring fiercely at Bellatrix. "Fine. You don't want to talk, then I'll make it so you can't. _Silencio!_" Draco opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Bellatrix just laughed. "_Crucio!_ Now; if there is anything you want to say, anything at all, speak up. If you do, I'll make it stop. If you don't, well, I probably don't need to tell you what will happen."

Draco was exhausted. He just hung there, as the spell surged through his body, making him involuntarily twitch. The Death Eaters in the room were quickly losing interest. Draco wanted to scream, every muscle in his body was telling him to scream to make it stop, but his pride wouldn't let him, even if he had been able to. It was against his upbringing to show weakness, so he just glared at Bellatrix.

Suddenly there was a loud noise from another room. "Everybody out! They've found the building!" Immediately the Death Eaters in the room left, and there was the sound of hundreds of people disapparating. And Draco was left in the room, his broken body suspended from the ceiling.

The pain let up, but Draco almost didn't notice. He could barely lift his head, and wasn't even aware his tormentors had left. He hung there, eyes closed, whispering for someone to make it stop.

**So? What do you think? There will be more, don't worry; I just want to make sure I've got interest before I continue. This is my first attempt at Harry Potter fanfic, and it's been a while since I've read the fifth and sixth books, so keep that in mind.**


	2. Enter Night

**Finally, I have returned to this story. Sorry it took so long; the muses for the other fics came back, so I had to let them tell their stories before I could come back to this one. Thanks for the reviews; it had been so long that I figured I was the only one actually interested in this. Anyway, here's the second chapter…the third is on its way.**

**I own nothing but the plot…but you knew that already.**

The Aurors entered the room, doing a sweep for Death Eaters. They had gotten a tip from an anonymous wizard that there was Death Eater activity in an abandoned building on the outskirts of Surrey, and they had quickly Apparated to the area to check it out. However, someone had apparently alerted them, because when they got there it was almost completely empty. They found a few Death Eaters who couldn't themselves Apparate, and had taken them back to Headquarters for sentencing and then a trip to Azkaban.

But this room was different. Instead of the Death Eaters, like they had expected, the only thing in the room was a body hanging from chains in the ceiling. On closer inspection, it was revealed that it was a boy, around the age of seventeen, who looked like he had been severely tortured. One of the Aurors approached the body, wanting a closer look. "Minerva, do you think that's a wise idea?" said one of the others.

"Kingsley, do you honestly think this boy poses much of a threat?"

"Well, no, but you never know if-" He was cut off by a sharp intake of breath by McGonagall. "What is it?" he asked as he moved closer to her, wand at the ready.

"It's – this boy is – was - one of my students," she said sadly.

"Really?" Kingsley asked.

"Yes. It's Lucious' son."

"A Malfoy." His feelings on the matter were clear.

"Yes." She sighed. It was always hard when she found someone she knew, especially students, be they current or past. The healer for the group approached. "I doubt your services will be needed, Opal. I fear the time is past for healing."

"I must try nonetheless, Minerva; it is my duty."

"Don't bother; it's a Malfoy. Nothing lost." Kingsley said the name as if it were a curse, spitting it out like a vomit-flavored bean in a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

He received a glare for his troubles. "I must attend to all wounded, Kingsley, not just ours. I am a healer, and as such am not allowed the luxury of bias. A wounded man is a wounded man, no matter whose side he fights for."

Kingsley shook his head as the healer approached the hanging body. She put two fingers to the side of his neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but faint. "He's alive," she said, surprised that someone so badly injured could somehow manage the strength to cling to life. She inspected the shackles holding him up and took out her wand. "Kingsley, if you are done having a tantrum I need you to come support the body."

He sighed loudly, protesting at the need for his involvement, but at Opal's glare he approached and supported Draco's unconscious form as indicated by the healer. She put her wand to one of the shackles, muttering an incantation, and the shackle opened, eliciting a grunt from Kingsley as the sudden weight of the body caused him to stagger so he wouldn't drop the boy. Opal shook her head and pulled her attention back to the other shackle. She repeated the process on the second, warning Kingsley when the shackle broke so he wouldn't be surprised. It wouldn't do to help the boy now only to lose him when his head hit the stone floor.

Kingsley lowered him to the floor and Minerva put a rolled up cloak under his head while Opal looked the boy over for the injuries that needed the most attention. There was a split lip, but that wasn't fatal. Bruising over most of his body, but that could be dealt with later as well. His condition seemed to be the work of a Cruciatus curse, which meant that most of the injuries wouldn't be visible; the curse affected the nervous system, meaning that, in effect, the pain was a figment of the mind, so the greatest injuries were often psychological rather than physical. She thought of the Longbottoms, which were textbook cases of the affects of the Cruciatus curse. Neither of them had shown any outward signs of injury when they were found other than the fact that both were unconscious. However, they both were now at Mungo's, and would be there for the rest of their lives, as their minds had been shattered from the experience. She hoped the boy would not suffer their fate; it was a horrible existence, consisting of long periods of catatonia punctuated by brief periods of lucidity during which the patient lived through the experience over and over until catatonia claimed them again. It was no life for anyone, least of all one so young. Unfortunately, Opal had seen too many cases to expect anything else. All she could do was heal his body to the best of her ability and hope he would recover.

**Yeah, I know; it's short. The next one will be longer, don't worry. Please review; they give my life meaning. Well, maybe not, but I certainly appreciate them greatly.**


	3. The Mark

**Continuing the saga (well, maybe not a saga…). Thanks for the reviews, everyone…you have such nice things to say, all the time. It's a little disconcerting, actually. Not that I want you to start sending flames; that's not what I'm saying at all.**

**I own nothing but the plot, and although it would be nice, no one is paying me for this.**

Sometime in the middle of the night Draco had passed from unconsciousness into true sleep. He had been moved to number 12 Grimmauld Place, since it was the only safe place they knew of. Kingsley and some others had argued that he was a Death Eater and would jeopardize the Order; after all, he did have the Mark. However, McGonagall had insisted that Draco wasn't a threat in his current condition, and since he had been tortured he probably wasn't entirely faithful to Voldemort, and instead could possibly be an asset. The others were skeptical, but McGonagall's logic couldn't be refuted, so he was shaken lightly until he woke up a little so the address could be whispered to him, and he was let inside.

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He woke suddenly, jerked from a dreamless sleep to an uncertain wakefulness. He opened his eyes carefully, peeking through slits at the woman crouched next to him. Was this another part of Bellatrix's game, or was he somewhere safe? He opened his eyes wider when it seemed that the woman meant no harm, revealing bloodshot grey eyes. He cleared his throat. "And what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He asked hoarsely, the calmness of his words in conflict with the wariness of his mind. He had no idea where he was, or who the woman peering at him concernedly was. She was wearing the robes of a healer. So that took care of one question. He tried to sit up, but was pushed back down by the woman. "Oh no you don't," she said briskly.

"And why not?" He asked, forcing a sneer. Memories of the last thing his conscious mind was aware of swirled in his head, causing him to reflexedly try to suppress them. Now was not the time for weakness.

"Because you were on the receiving end of an Unforgiveable curse applied multiple times not twelve hours ago. You are in no condition to be up and about this soon."

He snorted. "I am fine. I appreciate your concern, truly I do," his voice dripped with false sincerity, "but it is misplaced."

"Then, for your own good, I am forced to sedate you. Drink this." She handed him a cup filled with a foul smelling potion.

"I most certainly will not," he sneered.

"You have two options. You either drink this potion or I will force you to." She waved her wand threateningly.

Draco sighed. "Fine." He grabbed the cup and downed it in one gulp, grimacing. "Happy?"

Opal rolled her eyes. After a few minutes Draco began to yawn, and soon was asleep.

This time he dreamed.

He dreamed of horrible things, of menacing figures in dark cloaks and of pain. He dreamed of dungeons and snakes and evil laughter, of promises made and broken, and of a man with slitted eyes and a high pitched voice. He woke in a cold sweat, with a scream in his throat. He sat up and hissed as a lancing pain shot through his arm. _I have need of you, my subject. You have a debt yet to be paid, an obligation to fulfill. You owe me, Malfoy, for your betrayal._

"Shut up," he muttered. "Just leave me alone." He knew the Dark Lord couldn't hear him, and was grateful of that fact.

"Are you talking to yourself?" asked a voice. He looked up, and was annoyed to find the youngest Weasley looking at him, her mouth twisted into an amused smirk.

"No," he said shortly, hiding his arm under the blankets. Maybe if she didn't see the mark she would leave him alone…

He was too slow. She caught his movement, and approached the bed, reaching out towards the bed as if to pull the blanket down to see his arm. He grabbed her wrist with the other arm, glaring at her. "Don't."

"And why not? You're not trying to hide something from me, are you?"

He snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Weasley."

She raised an eyebrow. "Fine." She moved as if to turn, then reached towards the blankets again, moving them aside before Draco could stop her. And there his brand was, displayed for all the world to see. She gasped, surprised, and he moved his arm, hiding the image of a skull and a snake intertwined.

It wasn't shame that made him hide it. It couldn't be; that was another trait that had been bred out of the Malfoy line years ago. She had surprised him, was all. Plus, she had been beginning to stare at it. It wouldn't do for him to be proud of it when he was surrounded by Dumbledore's supporters, not unless he was suicidal.

"Is that…?"

"Keep your bloody voice down," he hissed. "You know very well what it is." He rubbed it absentmindedly, trying to soothe the dull ache.

"Does it hurt?" She asked concernedly.

Draco was chagrined. After the way he had treated her and her entire family for the past six years, she still managed to find some empathy for him. He was the enemy, even, and despite that she still was concerned. Despite his introspection, he fell back on old habits and gave her a trademark sneer, without thought. "What do _you_ think?"

"I was only trying to help. Honestly, Malfoy; what gives you the right to be such a bloody twit?"

All the color drained from Draco's face. "Don't – don't call me that."

"What? A bloody twit? That's what you're acting like."

"Oh, piss off, Weasley."

Ginny sighed. What was she thinking, being nice to Draco? Did she really think he would at least be civil? She shook her head, ignoring his comment. "Fine, then." She turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Draco with the memories she had evoked with two simple words.

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" 'Bloody twit.' Am not," he muttered defensively. "What does she know? Nothing. She's just a _Weasely_. Muggle-lovers, the lot of them." The memories were coming thick and fast now, regardless of his efforts to suppress them, threatening to overwhelm him with their clarity. Bellatrix blasting the door to splinters, Kingston shoving him roughly against a wall, the trip to the Dark Lord's lair, all of it raging through his mind like a 10-ton dragon. And they continued to come, despite his attempts to hold onto his annoyance at Ginny, ripping away his carefully constructed mask. He heard his sentencing, felt the curse running through his veins, causing a pain that was inescapable no matter how much he tried. He heard Bellatrix's laughter, joyous and manic and terrifying. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the images, but they would not be shaken loose. Tears fell down his cheeks, which he quickly tried to wipe away, but as the Dark Lord called to him again, they were forgotten. _Come, my servant. Stop this cowardly hiding. If you believe yourself to be loyal, prove yourself and return to my side._

"Stop it. Just stop it," he said, directing his plea to no one in particular. He rubbed the dark mark on his arm furiously, trying to stop the lancing pain that signaled a call from the Dark Lord. It didn't help, but then again he hadn't expected it to.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was afraid to answer. He knew the Dark Lord was likely still furious that he had failed to carry out his mission, and the fact that Draco was now hiding from Him was likely not making the fury any less. He knew he should return, whether or not a punishment was waiting for him there. The Dark Lord was his master, the mark proved it, and Draco belonged at His side. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not that he would be allowed to leave the house; wherever he was now, the Aurors would never let him leave, as they would suspect his reason for doing so.

_That is a pathetic excuse. Honestly, I would expect something better from you, Draco._ _You are a Death Eater, one of the Dark Lord's own. If you really wanted to return to Him, you would find a way. Your loyalties are not shifting, are they…?_ His father's voice entered his thoughts. Draco snorted. Of course his loyalties weren't shifting; that was ridiculous. He was just being rational, like he had been taught.

He stared at the mark on his arm, remembering the night he had received it. He had been so happy, proud that he had been selected to join the ranks of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers. And now it was the source of so many different emotions, fear and pride and disgust. Pride was most easily understood; it was an honor, not a right, to be chosen and marked by the Dark Lord, and he had certainly earned it. Fear, although distasteful, was easily understood as well; he had displeased his master, and would have to pay the price eventually for it. He did not take disobedience lightly, nor did He look favorably on those who sought to hide from Him. Disgust was the most surprising to Draco; how could he be disgusted over something that he had been waiting for his entire life? But it was there nonetheless, whether or not he could identify why he felt it.

**So, what do you think so far? Am I characterizing Draco right? As I've said, I've only come to appreciate him recently, so I didn't pay much attention to him when I read the books/watched the movies other than to get annoyed at him for whatever horrible thing he had done or to laugh at him when someone got back at him. I really need to do those things and pay closer attention. Oh well.**


	4. Weasel and the Mudbloods

**I know, it's been a while. But another chapter has finally gotten written. This one has a little more interaction between Draco and the others, and hopefully provides more insight into why Draco turned out the way he did. I promise, this is going somewhere, honest. **

Draco lay back in the bed in the room he had been confined to, trying to ignore the situation he was in. It was as if he was being watched; every time he got up to try to leave the room, someone would suddenly enter it, eliminating any chances of his escape. The last time had only resulted in his mood worsening; he had quietly gotten out of bed and snuck to the window, silently cursing Kingston for breaking his wand. He had no sooner begun opening the window when who should walk in but Potter. "Going somewhere, Malfoy?" he asked with a smirk.

"Oh, shove off, Potter," he responded in kind. "It's not like you could stop me anyway, not without Weasel and the mudblood. Sounds like a band, doesn't it? Weasel and the Mudbloods. Probably something you would listen to. What kind of songs would they play, do you think? 'My dad's a loser and my mum's a pig'? Or maybe - "

"What about 'My dad's in Azkaban and my mum's a dementor?' Wonder what that says about your home life? It might explain a few things, actually."

Draco's smirk disappeared. His mum; he had completely forgotten about her. Was she all right? The Dark Lord had threatened to kill his family if he didn't complete his task; while he didn't much care whether his father lived or died, he hoped his mother was alright. He pulled away from his thoughts and again focused on Potter, speaking coldly. "Don't talk about my parents like that. And don't you dare say anything about my mother ever again."

"Ooh, hit a chord, have I? Drakie doesn't like it when I insult his mum, does he?"

"Shut up, Potter, or I'll insult your precious Ginny. Or maybe not; when she came in earlier she looked quite fetching…"

Harry's wand was at his throat before Draco had time to react. "Don't touch her," he said threateningly. "You so much as look at her and you're dead, Malfoy."

Draco gave him a trademark sneer. "Oh, come on, Potter; if you're so keen on the idea of my death, just do it now. But just so you know, I'm unarmed."

Harry glared at him, blind fury evident in his eyes. He lowered his wand. "That's right, I knew you couldn't do it. You're too damn soft," Draco said derisively, enjoying every minute of pushing Harry's buttons. Potter made it all too easy, but it was worth it every time.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden blow to his face. He staggered against the wall and slumped to the floor. He looked up at Harry, who had a satisfied smirk on his face. Draco put a hand to his injured cheek, checking to verify that nothing had been broken, and looked up at Harry. "Potter, you punch like a girl."

"Well, that's not such a bad insult, considering how you ran away from Hermione when she hit you third year."

"Oho! Finally Potter comes up with a decent comeback!"

Harry shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Some of the members of the Order are going to come talk to you. That's the only reason I came in here; Professor McGonagall thought I should tell you. Merlin only knows why…" His voice trailed off into grumbling about how much of an ass Draco was.

Draco raised an eyebrow. He had an idea of what they wanted to talk to him about, but he wanted to hear it from Potter.

"Don't even try to tell me you have no idea why they'd want to talk to you; your father is one of Voldemort's closest followers. The real question would be why wouldn't they want to talk to you." Draco didn't even flinch at the mention of his master's true name, as many other Death Eaters would have. He had been taught by his father over and over not to show fear, as it was un-Malfoy to show fear. This had been a hard lesson to learn, as it had taken hundreds of times before he no longer flinched at his father's cane. After that, a name was nothing.

"_Lucius, stop it," cried his mother, trying to stop the father from striking the son again. _

"_Narcissa, I must do it; you know this. I will not have a weak son. My father did this for me, I must do it for him. He must know how to hide fear, hide pain, hide weakness. It would not do for a Malfoy to show these things. He will thank me one day for this. Won't you, boy?"_

_He looked down at the boy in question, who was struggling to rise to his hands and knees. His shirt had been removed, and the horizontal marks where the cane had struck were in sharp relief against the pale skin of his back. Tears flowed down his cheeks, dripping to the floor, as he tried to compose himself, readying himself for the next hit. "Won't you?" asked the father again, prodding him forcefully in the side to get an answer._

"_Yes, father," responded the son, trying his hardest not to flinch as the cane fell again. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, as he knew it would only prolong the lesson. His lip bled from his efforts to keep silent, the blood droplets falling to stain the cold stone floor._

_He was twelve._

**I know, it ended kind of abruptly, sorry. I had no idea how else to end it, since the next part will probably take another five pages, and I didn't want to post too much all at once. What do you think? Next chapter is on its way…not sure when it will be finished, but I'll try to get it posted soon. After that the next couple chapters will be posted fairly quickly, depending on reviews, since I kinda wrote them while I was writing this chapter…talk about ADD…Anyway, pleeease review. I have very little idea of what people think of this fic, since very few people have actually reviewed it. Maybe I've gotten spoiled by how many people reviewed _Control_, I don't know. But I'm serious; review. It's not like it takes too much time; just hit the purple button and tell me what you think. Anyway, until next time.**


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